


Dynamic

by Starlightify



Series: repairing the world [13]
Category: DCU
Genre: Autism, Gen, M/M, Memes, Pre-Relationship, Sparring, Team Dynamics, Trans Character, neurodivergent character, the justice league of millenials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlightify/pseuds/Starlightify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana tests the fighting skills of the newly-formed Justice League. Clark comes to Bruce for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I'll Make A Man Out Of You plays in the distance*
> 
> So this is a fun sort-of character study. The members of the League all come from very different backgrounds, both in their personal lives and hero lives. Their fighting styles and knowledge levels are thus going to be Very Different. Dinah and Bruce have been training to be vigilantes basically since they were kids, Diana grew up on an island of warriors, John uses his architectural knowledge to inform his constructs, Shayera is a career soldier, Barry has some vague police training but basically no pre-Flash combat experience, J'onn was a guerrilla fighter, and Clark just sort of Leroy Jenkins-es his way through things. It's a mess.
> 
> I'm focusing on Clark and Bruce and their combat styles for the time being, because I still need to get a better handle on the rest of the League, but I'll definitely do more in-depth things with John, Shayera, Dinah, et al soon. If anyone wants to rec me comics/cartoons/etc. for any of them, please do.
> 
> Also, if you want visuals for Diana's style of hand-to-hand combat, look at images of wrestling from Greek pottery and videos of Brazilian jiu jitsu.

“Do not hold back,” Diana says firmly.

“Okay,” Clark says. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bruce suspects that the bouncing is not actually a tactic and is simply an expression of nervous tension. He takes a closer look and realizes that Clark is actually hovering about half an inch off the floor. Clark does not seem to have noticed this.

“I am serious, Superman. You will not harm me. Do not treat me as you would a mortal bank robber.”

“I don’t know why robbers are what people go to when they think of who I fight,” Clark says. “I don’t fight that many bank robbers. There are hardly ever any in person bank robberies anymore. It’s all electronic.”

“Superman.”

“Yes. Okay. Not holding back. Got it.”

Bruce is fairly certain that Clark does not ‘got it’. He’s positioned himself in a vague semblance of a fighter’s stance, and is at least no longer hovering, but his movements are awkward, jerky. And his guard is too low. And his back is too bent. And he looks like he’s going to throw up.

Diana, by contrast, sinks into her stance with graceful ease. Every movement is fluid, deliberate. Bruce searches for openings in her defenses and cannot find any. She does appear to be breathing a little faster, but her face is smooth, her expression serene.

Bruce considers waiting to give the signal for the match to start, but a little extra time is not going to improve Clark’s stance. This is, apparently, as ready as he’s going to be.

“Begin,” Bruce says. Diana rushes forward like a cruise missile in a brassiere. She slaps aside Clark’s halfhearted punch, gets under his guard in an instant. He brings up a leg instinctively, she takes advantage of it and knocks him off-balance.

And then Wonder Woman throws Superman into the far wall of the room.

There is a moment where the only sound is the echo of the impact. Slight concave curves indicate that the metal beneath the thick protective pads dented under the strain of being struck by the Man of Steel, and Bruce is certain that the only reason Clark didn’t go _through_ the wall is that he started trying to fly in the opposite direction to counter his momentum. Clark is not flying now. He slid down the wall after hitting it and sank to his knees, and he’s still there, looking dazed and unsteady. The human members of the Justice League look rather unsteady as well. Superman may be the newest of them all to the superhero business, but he reached legendary status quickly. Being able to contain nuclear blasts with one’s body alone does that. Seeing him taken down so quickly is… jarring.

Not for Bruce. He knows no one is truly invincible. He’s seen Clark go down in a fight before. Still, there was a sort of twist in his guts when he saw Clark hit the wall and not come back swinging.

There is a motion to Bruce’s left - Flash is taking his phone out. Bruce bites down on the impulse to snarl at him, and instead waits, watches to see what he’s doing. Bruce doesn’t think Flash is uncautious enough to take a picture of this, but if he tries, then Bruce is going to put a Batarang through his screen.

Flash is not taking a picture. He taps the phone one more time, and “Mm Whatcha Say” echoes through the gym.

The tension dissolves into uproarious laughter. Green Lantern positively howls with it, slapping his palms against his knees. Flash has rolled off his seat onto the floor. Black Canary has her face in her hands and shakes with hiccuping guffaws. Even Bruce can’t contain a few snorts, though he gives it a valiant effort. Clark is laughing so hard he’s holding his stomach, and though his laughter has a ragged edge, Bruce is fairly certain that’s from the shock of hitting the wall and nothing more serious.

Their other team members are thoroughly perplexed.

“What is the significance of this music?” Shayera asks. “Why do you derive amusement from it?”

Green Lantern just barely manages to gasp out “Memes,” before he’s overcome with giggles. This makes Clark, Black Canary, and Flash laugh even harder.

Shayera’s lip twists in disgust. “More of these ‘memes’! I do not understand their function in your society.”

“I am also confused,” J’onn states.

“As am I,” Diana says, crossing the mats to offer Clark a hand up. He waves her away. He’s rolled onto his side and is still holding his stomach.

“I’ll show you the video it originated from later,” Bruce says, “though I don’t think it will be much of an explanation.”

“I welcome any information on why this song is so entertaining,” Diana says, and hauls Clark to his feet. He wobbles a little, still giggling intermittently. The laughter dies down slowly, in ripples and waves. “Superman,” Diana says when the laughter has mostly stopped and Flash has silenced his phone, “you held back.”

“I -” Clark begins, then wilts under Diana’s gaze. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“At this point, it’s automatic,” he says. “I’m so used to being careful that I can’t really give it my all when I’m fighting someone.”

“You will need to become accustomed to using greater force,” Diana says. “Many of your foes may be fragile mortals, but others will not be, and they will pose a great risk to you in combat..”

Clark nods. “I understand.”

Diana pats him on the shoulder. “You did well to reduce the impact of your collision. You have good instincts, you merely lack the training to accompany them. Return to the seats.”

Clark beams as he walks back to the row of chairs at the edge of the gym and sits down next to Bruce. Bruce shifts. “Your form is appalling,” he mutters.

Clark shrugs. “I’ll work on it. I never really learned how to fight from a real instructor. Just Youtube tutorials and stuff.”

Bruce struggles to keep his composure in light of this terribly distressing new information.

“Who is next?” Diana calls.

No one volunteers.

“Flash!” Diana says.

Green Lantern claps Flash on the back. “Nice knowing you, buddy,” he says.

“Tell my wife and kids I loved them,” Flash says solemnly as he walks up to stand before Diana. Bruce sees J’onn’s eyebrows come together in an expression Bruce identifies as quizzical surprise. He’ll have to explain later that Flash was joking and doesn’t actually have children. That Bruce knows of, anyway.

“Take your stance,” Diana says.

“Are you going to throw me into a wall, too? Because I’m pretty sure if I have to fight that wall, it’s going to win,” Flash says.

Diana’s lips quirk. “I will keep this in mind.”

She doesn’t throw Flash into the wall.

She throws him onto the ground.

~x~

There are a lot of reasons why Bruce is glad that Diana is a part of the Justice League. First among them is that there is no one better suited to lead the Justice League. Diana knows when to be stern and when to compromise. She knows how to balance all of the different personalities, and she knows how to coordinate the actions of multiple people at once, turning them into a fighting force rather than a bunch of solo acts that constantly bump into each other.

At the moment, though, Bruce is cursing her choice to join the League. Diana didn’t let him get away with only refereeing - she wanted to assess the combat abilities of all of the members of the League, himself included. She was not swayed by Bruce’s assertion that he’s not technically a League member, just an independent contractor. 

Bruce lasted longer against Diana than Clark, Flash, and Shayera did. Black Canary lasted about as long as Bruce, and Green Lantern and J’onn held out the longest, but only through the use of defensive constructs and intangibility, respectively.

It’s probably just his natural bitterness that makes him think that was cheating. He’s going to think it anyway.

As the League members trail out of the gym, Bruce lingers, eyeing the dented section of wall. He did his best to make the Watchtower sturdy, but Superman-proofing anything is damn near impossible. He wants everyone to be able to train here. He also wants not to have to fix holes in the walls every week. He’s not sure he can have it both ways.

“Excuse me.”

Bruce turns.

Clark is standing in the doorway, playing with the edge of his cape. “Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks.

Bruce nods.

“I was wondering if I could train under - with, train with you, in addition to Diana,” Clark says. “I know it’ll be good to practice fighting with more of my strength, but the vast majority of people I’m fighting aren’t invulnerable the way she is. So I thought it would be good,” Clark continues, voice faltering a little, “to practice with someone like you, who’s -“

“A fragile mortal?” Bruce says dryly. Diana certainly has a memorable way of phrasing things.

“No! I mean, yes, I mean, mean, mean, m-” Clark stops talking, snaps his mouth shut and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, annoyance etching hard lines in his face. Bruce watches his throat bob, watches his fingers tighten around his cape. He waits for when Clark is ready to try speaking again.

“I mean,” Clark says slowly, carefully, “you’re used. To fighting people. Who are inexperienced at combat. Without hurting them badly. I want to learn that from you.”

“Diana is also experienced with fighting people who are inexperienced,” Bruce says.

“But she’s going to push me to use more of my strength, and I-I-I-” Clark closes his mouth again and makes an unhappy rumbling sound that is not quite a growl. Bruce studiously ignores the way something in him quivers when he hears it. Aside from all the other issues, it is dreadfully uncouth to react that way to Clark expressing his frustration with his speech impediment.

“Do you need to use a tablet?” Bruce asks, and Clark shakes his head, takes a deep breath and lets it out with a ‘whoosh’ that Bruce feels across what little skin his costume leaves uncovered.

“I can’t just learn to fight with invulnerable people,” Clark says. “And I trust you to tell me if I do anything dangerous. I can’t - I haven’t known Diana as long as I’ve known you. I know she wouldn’t let me put people at risk. But knowing and feeling are different things, you know?”

Bruce nods.

“So… can I train with you, too?” Clark asks.

“Send me your schedule. I’ll work out times when we’re both available,” Bruce says, and Clark gives him that gorgeous, wide smile.

“You’re the best, Batman,” Clark says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand part 2.
> 
> Who knew that my years of sporadic self-defense training would serve as a knowledge base for a shameless Superbat fic?

‘Times when they are both available’ seem to primarily be late evenings. That leaves Bruce enough time to wrap up his meetings before going to the Watchtower and be back to Gotham in time to be fashionably late to parties he doesn’t want to go to or in time to patrol during the height of the nighttime crime, and Clark enough time to wrap up his stories at the Daily Planet and get back in time to get enough sleep that he isn’t half-dead with exhaustion the next day.

Clark shows up to their first training session looking no more comfortable than he did when he first fought Diana. He’s hovering again, and there are worried little creases between his brows.

Bruce anticipated this. He’s observed Clark’s behavior, thought about the mental calculations someone with that kind of strength must do on the daily to make sure they don’t destroy everything they come into contact with. Thought about how that must weigh on Clark’s mind, how even though Clark is gentle and careful and kind, some part of him is probably always worrying about slipping up and…

Well. It’s understandable that Clark is nervous about sparring.

That’s why Bruce came prepared.

“What are those?” Clark asks, coming to a halt not far past the entrance to the gym.

“They’re dummies,” Bruce says. “You hit them.” Or kick them. Or elbow them. Or do any number of moves on them. But they’ll stick with hitting for today.

Clark drifts up to one of the dummies and gives it a careful poke. “Oh. Like a punching bag.”

“Like a punching bag,” Bruce agrees. “Only since these are humanoid, you can practice your aim as well.”

Clark nods. “So… I don’t have to, you know, fight you today?”

“No. We’ll do that another time. For now, we’re going to improve your form.”

Clark lets out a relieved sigh and his breathing evens out. “Okay. I can do this.”

“Good. We’ll start with running laps.”

“Running…” Clark gives Bruce a confused look, eyebrows quirked upwards and lips not quite pulled into a frown. “Why?”

“To get warmed up. If you exercise without warming up properly, you could strain something.”

Clark opens his mouth like he might argue, but lands on the floor instead of saying anything and jogs to the edge of the gym. “How fast do you want me to go?” he calls. “I can’t do full speed in here, I’ll make a tornado and mess up the floors.”

“As fast as you safely can,” Bruce says, moving to the center of the room. “Begin.”

Clark starts running. He’s going fast enough to blur slightly and kick up a small breeze, but Bruce has little trouble tracking his movements. When Clark has done five laps, Bruce calls “Now walk laps.”

“I feel silly,” Clark complains, but he starts walking.

“People call you Superman. To your face. You should be used to feeling silly,” Bruce says. Clark snorts and puts a hand over his mouth too slowly to hide a grin.

“I didn’t come up with that name,” Clark says.

“I know.”

“Did you come up with Batman?” Clark asks. “I mean, it seems pretty in line with the bat getup, so…”

“The bat motif was my idea. ‘Batman’ was not.” Bruce counts two laps, then says “Back to running.”

He’s really not sure how to properly exercise a Kryptonian. He’s got the files from STAR labs on Clark’s physiology, but there’s still a lot of uncharted territory here. Bruce will just stick with what he knows about training humans and hope it works the same. And try to get as many tests run on and samples taken from Clark as possible to expand his knowledge about the way Clark’s body works.

“Walk,” Bruce says.

“Who came up with Batman?” Clark asks. He doesn’t sound winded at all. Given his lung capacity and the general level of physical activity Clark is accustomed to, Bruce wouldn’t expect him to be. But if Clark is going to be this talkative during all their training sessions, Bruce might have to figure out a way to make him short of breath.

With exercise. Normal exercise. Appropriate exercise. Not X-rated exercise.

Bruce is glad J’onn isn’t on the Watchtower right now.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce says. “There were several names, when people first started talking about me. ‘Batman’ just had the most staying power.”

“How long have you been Batman? Like, how long have you been superhero, not how old is the name.”

Bruce will save his arguments against being categorized as a ‘superhero’ for another time. “Seven years.”

Clark loses his rhythm, almost stumbling and moving awkwardly as he tries to recover. “Seven years?” he repeats incredulously. “But then… you were… really?”

“Yes. Run.” This is not a conversation Bruce is all that interested in having. He may have been on the younger side when he started working as a vigilante, but he’d been training for a very long time. In the grand scheme of things, twenty-one was not that early to become Batman. Certainly not as shockingly early as…

He doesn’t want to have this conversation.

At least Clark doesn’t talk when he’s running, though Bruce can’t just make him run forever.

“Stop. Copy my movements.” Bruce begins to run through a series of stretches. Clark does a passable job imitating him, though he lacks the fluid, disciplined coordination of someone used to this kind of exercise. Clark’s movements are less smooth, more jerky, punctuated by glances at Bruce to check that he’s doing it right. He does seem to recognize a few of the stretches, and is much better at those. But as they go on, Bruce can see nervous tension building in the line of Clark’s spine and the angles of his shoulders. This is defeating the purpose of stretching.

“Stop. Stand up straight and face me,” Bruce says. Clark tenses further and complies. “You will not be sparring with me today. We will not spar until you’re more comfortable with what I’m teaching you. I need you to believe that.”

“I know,” Clark says. He makes a twitching, stalled motion - stopping himself from grabbing his cape, Bruce guesses. He wonders what Superman’s cape feels like - he’s only ever touched it with his gloves on. It looks like no fabric on earth, heavy enough to hang in even folds down Clark’s back when he’s standing, light enough to drift and float behind Clark when he’s flying, and a deep, shining red. He wonders if the texture of it is just as alien.

“Knowing and feeling are different things,” Bruce says. “If you’re this tense when you’re training, you _will_ hurt yourself.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Clark says, and then flushes.

Bruce sighs. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m confident that when we begin sparring, you won’t hurt me any worse than the Robins did when I was training them?” While none of them had heat vision or super strength, Clark, at least, is used to pulling his punches and knows some of the basics of fistfighting. It is in many ways safer to train with Clark than it was to train with an uncoordinated thirteen-year-old Tim. For starters, Clark’s knees are way less pointy.

“No,” Clark says. “But now I’m curious.”

“Something will go wrong at some point,” Bruce says, deliberately ignoring the not-quite-explicit request for Robin stories. He only brought them up to ease Clark’s nerves. He is not going to say more. “It always does, in sparring. But part of the point of training is to make sure that when things do go wrong, they don’t go as wrong as they could have if you were less well-disciplined, had less of an understanding of fighting. I am not trying to teach you how to hurt people, Clark. I am teaching you how to not hurt them.”

The tension doesn’t leave, not entirely. But it does lessen.

“Okay,” Clark says. “Okay. I can do this.”

“You can,” Bruce confirms. “Now. Let’s work on your stance.”

~x~

“Batman. I would speak with you, if you have time.”

Bruce is on monitor duty. He has nothing but time. “Take a seat.”

Diana settles into a chair that is well within Bruce’s peripheral vision, but far enough away that he doesn’t feel crowded. “I would speak with you of Superman,” she clarifies.

“I think the person most qualified to answer questions about Superman is Superman,” Bruce says. He clicks through a few screens. The Watchtower really is an impressive construction - Green Lantern had spoken with other Green Lanterns and gotten monitoring equipment from societies far more technologically advanced than anything on Earth, J’onn had contributed Martian engineering techniques, Diana had offered raw materials from Themyscira - and the fact that it was assembled so quickly makes it even more impressive. Too bad there’s absolutely nothing happening that deserves the League’s attention right now. Bruce could use a good, old-fashioned distraction like alien fleets or killer tornados.

“I do not desire to go around his back,” Diana says. “I simply wish to know your thoughts about him.”

Diana has mentioned, in passing, that she was made out of clay. Bruce wonders if she would ever consent to have medical tests run on her. Is she still clay on a chemical level? Does she have all the same organs a human would? Bruce knows she eats, so she must possess something like a gastrointestinal tract. And she breathes - looks like she’s breathing, anyway. “He’s tall,” Bruce says.

“I wish to know your thoughts about how to work with him when we are training,” Diana clarifies. “I know that he fears using his full strength. I think I understand why, but I would like the perspective of someone who has known him longer.”

The monitors continue to display nothing of import. Bruce swivels in his chair so he’s facing Diana. “Superman doesn’t know his full strength,” Bruce says. “No one does. It takes him time and effort to move some things, but he has never found anything he _couldn’t_ move.” Bruce has read the reports from STAR labs. He’s read the stories on people Superman’s saved, calamities that he’s averted. There is no solid line, no point at which Superman’s strength is not enough, or if there is, they haven’t found it yet. “He fears using his full strength because he doesn’t think there’s anyone in the universe he couldn’t hurt, and to a man like Superman, that is terrifying.”

Diana tilts her head, birdlike. “So you believe that when I tell Superman that he must learn to use his full strength, it is the phrase ‘full strength’ that scares him.”

“Yes,” Bruce says.

“You think he does not believe that he cannot hurt me when we spar.”

“Yes.”

“And since he does not know what his full strength is, I cannot prove to him that he cannot harm me.”

“Essentially,” Bruce says.

“I see.” Diana’s skin is a warm russet. When she closes her eyes and holds still, Bruce can easily see her as a being made of clay, can almost see the impressions of her mother’s thumbprints in the arch of her cheekbones. “I appreciate this insight, Batman. Will you share further advice on our teammates, if I ask in the future?”

“I don’t know most of them,” Bruce says. “I hardly know Superman. We’ve had previous interactions, but we’ve probably only spent a total of a month in each other’s company.”

“But you observe them. You recognize things that I do not. I value your judgements, Batman, when you chose to share them.” Diana seems to decide something, nods once, to herself. “I would also like to formally extend an invitation to spar with me. Your strategies and tactics are fascinating, and I would be honored to participate in an exchange of combat forms.”

Bruce considers it. Then he nods. While their last sparring session may have been somewhat humiliating for him, that only shows how beneficial regular sparring sessions could be. “I accept your invitation. Send me your schedule and I’ll figure out when we can meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, maybe chill with the 'I want to run medical tests on all my teammates' thing.


End file.
